


Warm Hearts

by Rosewood_Writes



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 21:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosewood_Writes/pseuds/Rosewood_Writes
Summary: Haven is gone. After waking up in the mines below haven, Assan sets off to find the rest of the inquisition, and recieves a warm welcome when he finds them.





	Warm Hearts

Every breath hurt worse than the last. The frigid air burned his lungs. lce stung his face, like tiny daggers to his skin. The wind raked at him with cold claws, stealing any heat his body produced. Assan's legs wobbled, but he had to keep going. He had survived. No way a blizzard would kill him now. Not after all that had happened.  
One slow step at a time, Assan made his way through the storm. Ahead, wolves howled, barely audible above the gale force winds that bent the trees and assaulted the peaks. He followed their lonely calls, stumbling blindly through the snow. Wherever they were, it had to be safe, sheltered. Or at least better than in the open getting pushed around by the wind.  
The anchor glowed dully as he went. In the low light of early dawn, it gave him enough light to see by. Not that it helped much. The snow was so thick that it made seeing anything almost impossible. Were it not for his gut telling him he was going the right way, he could have been walking in circles for all he knew. It felt like a lifetime that he'd been aimlessly walking in what he hoped was the same direction he had seen the arrow fly.  
When he'd woken up in the mine below Haven, he could barely move. His back throbbed, his headache, his mouth tasted heavily of blood, and his thoughts were muddled. He had lain there in the dirt for a long time, just breathing as his senses came back to him and the pain gradually subsided enough for him to try to stand.  
Even now his body ached. His left arm throbbed and ached horribly if he moved it. A gash above his eye was slowly dripping blood down his face. His right leg couldn't support his full weight anymore, wobbling violently if he stepped on it too hard. The fact that he was alive at all had shocked him.  
The storm began to abate as he climbed higher. The winds died down. The harsh snow became lighter, making it easier to see. But the exposure to the storm had drained him. He was so cold his very bones shivered. His lips were cracked, and he was certain that his toes and fingers were frostbitten; his leather armor could only protect him from so much of the elements.  
By the time he reached the top of the hill, his calves were burning and aching. Every step took more effort than the last. He rubbed his eyes repeatedly, fighting off the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him. If the others weren't close by, he was surely going to freeze to death.  
Thankfully, he could see the glow of fires on the other side of the hill, smell the smoke from fires. The sounds of voices carried up the hill. With the last of his strength he stumbled towards the downward slope, almost in tears. Soon, he’d be safe and warm. All he wanted was several blankets and a warm bed roll.  
“There! It’s him!”  
Assan’s lip gave an involuntary tremble. Cold tears ran down his cheeks as he saw Cullen and several others running towards him. Dorian was at the front, scrambling as fast as his feet could carry him. The mage caught him as his knees finally gave way. Assan buried his face into the fur around Dorian’s neck as the man hoisted him up.  
“You’re alive,” Dorian said quietly, giving him a tight squeeze as the others surrounded them. Someone wrapped a thick, woolly blanket around Assan’s shoulders.  
“You’re warm,” Assan hummed. He couldn't decide which he loved more, the warm blanket, or Dorian's own body heat. Both were heavenly. “Don’t let go.”  
“I don’t intend to," Dorian said. Despite the look of obvious concern, Assan could tell he was relieved.  
“I’m serious; I’ll faint if you do,” Assan laughed weakly. Now that he was safe, his drive was wearing off. All he wanted was a week worth of sleep and something hot to eat. Especially the hot meal.  
Dorian forced a smile, supporting Assan's weight as he held him out to look at him, “Let’s get you back to camp. The healers need to look at you; you’re a mess.”  
“A hot mess, at that,” Assan hummed as Dorian helped him down the hillside.  
Dorian snorted in response, “More like a frozen mess.”  
The camp went silent as Assan and the party passed through. Hundreds of faces stared at him, wide-eyed. They had likely thought him dead. He smiled weakly and waved to some before exhaustion prevented him from lifting his arm again. Dorian was practically carrying him now. Forget the meal, he thought to himself. All he really wanted was sleep.  
Dorian laid him down in a tent, sitting beside him as a group of men and women fussed over him, removing his boots to look at his toes, soaking his hands in warm water. The pampering was nice at first, but once they had warmed him up, they began to heal the gashes on his back from falling into the mine, as well as tend to the wide array of bruises, burns, scrapes and possible sprains. Dorian held his hand tightly as the healers pulled bits of wood and debris from his wounds and pressed and prodded every last part of his body he didn’t realize was in pain.  
Hours in the freezing cold had numbed him to the pain he was in. Everything hurt: his nose was definitely broken, his face a bruised and mangled mess no doubt; his left shoulder was out of place, there were bruises and scrapes all up and down his legs; there were burns on his arms and his hands from the dragon fire, as well as some on his face and back where the fabric had been burned through. In other words, he was a mess.  
After several hours of poultices and salves being applied to his injuries, and a nasty concoction of potions, the healers left, satisfied that their Herald would live through the night. Whatever they had given him was making him drowsy. Sleep was starting to sound more and more appealing as the herbs kicked in. His eyelids were growing heavier by the second.  
Dorian gave his hand a squeeze to make sure he was still awake. Assan smiled tiredly at him and squeezed his hand back. For a minute, he had forgotten that Dorian was still there.  
“I thought you were dead,” Dorian said after a while.  
“Me too,” Assan replied, humming as the mage’s warm hand touched his cheek.  
“Get some rest," Dorian slowly pulled his hand away. Assan reached after it, pulling it back towards him. He didn't want him to leave yet. Part of him still needed the reassurance that he was okay, that this wasn't all some fantasy his brain had created as he lay slowly dying somewhere back out there in the storm.  
“Stay with me,” Assan begged.  
“I will. I promise." Dorian scooted closer, placing Assan's head in his lap. "I'll be right here."


End file.
